


peter's favorite shirt (is also tony's favorite shirt)

by KiwisAndTea



Series: t-shirts [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, flash thompson is a dick, spoiler alert: they get the hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwisAndTea/pseuds/KiwisAndTea
Summary: The billionaire gives him an easy smile, one that suggests he knows exactly what is going through the boy's head, before his gaze drifts down and his smile grows. A lot. And it's- it'sweird. Not bad weird, but he's definitely never seen that one before, and Peter likes to think he's seen them all by now.And shoot, he didn't drop something on his shirt, did he? That would be super embarrassing.It's clean - thank god - but his heartrate spikes intoDangerousanyway because, oh yeah, he's wearingthat shirt. The shirt Ned got him for Christmas. The shirt that's one of his new favorites. The shirt he won't wear if he knows May or Happy or Mr. Stark would see it.-Part 4 of the t-shirts series, but you do not need to read the others first.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okie dokie, installment number four! Honestly, I love this one. It's so cute. The shirt actually exists, and I found it on an online shopping binge at HotTopic and couldn't not use it. You'll understand shortly. This was originally a one-shot, but I felt the need to write some sort of response chapter, which I'll talk about more at the end.
> 
> Part 4 of the t-shirts series. You do not need to read the others to understand this one.

Nothing can bring Peter down. It's one of those days, where he'd woken up on time and eaten a decent breakfast and pet a cat on his way to school and totally aced that Spanish quiz, and there is nothing that could ruin his good mood. Not the news that one of his favorite teachers is retiring at the end of the year. Not the fact that the cafeteria is serving fish-sticks again (even his enhanced stomach knows to avoid those). And certainly not Flash pulling the same material out of his ratty old bullying hat.

"Again?" the other boy drawls as he and his merry band of bullies pull up beside him and Ned in the hall. Peter blinks owlishly at Flash, unsure what it is that he has done again to draw such a bored tone from someone who is usually so much more - how should he put it? - direct and unmerciful in his interactions, at least until he waves a hand in Peter's general direction. "We all know your parents are dead. And your uncle. It's kind of pathetic, don't you think?"

He'd be lying if he said it didn't sting a little, but his parents have been gone for most of his life and Ben's death is finally starting to hurt less, and somehow Flash has brought up this same rationale three times already. It's old news.

"And it's not like Tony Stark even knows you exist."

Between the smug smiles and the snickering amongst the posse, one would think this to be a new burn when in fact it has been overused and run into the ground.

"Of course he does," Ned butts in, ever loyal. They've had this and similar conversations a hundred times, but Ned never minds a rehash or an opportunity to rub it in Flash's face that Peter knows Iron Man. "He and Peter hang out every other week."

"Thanks, man," he says, slinging an arm across his best friend's shoulder to lead him away from yet another argument over Tony Stark, "Tell me your mom packed you extra ensaymadas. I don't even want to think about the cafeteria food."

They leave Flash in the dust and make a beeline for their table, where MJ is already sitting with an apple and a large book. She glances up when they arrive, giving a nod to Ned and rolling her eyes at his shirt.

Ned drops into his chair and sets his lunchbox on the table. "Um, duh. She actually wrote your name on a couple of them."

His day just keeps getting better and better.

" _Yeeeees_ , bless Mrs. Leeds." Peter makes grabby hands for the zip-lock bag of bread rolls with his name written on it in Sharpie, and makes a point of kissing each one when his friend hands them over. "Tell her she's the best."

"She knows. She wants you to come over this weekend and look at the progress she's made on that blanket."

"Oh!" Peter says excitedly around a mouthful of sweet cheesy bread, "Is she almost done?"

"Yep."

"Done. Just let me know when."

It's between fifth and sixth period that he finds out that Netflix uploaded the next season of Queer Eye (and guess what he's watching this weekend?), and he must have borrowed someone else's luck to avoid Flash on his way out of school, but the trio make it to the parking lot unscathed for once. MJ plops down on the steps, opening to the middle of her book to await her father, and he walks with Ned over to his mom's car to thank her for feeding him before heading off to his apartment. He's determined to get his homework done in the two hours before May gets home, so that they can have movie night _and_ he can patrol, but the moment he pulls up to his door he knows that isn't going to happen.

The deadbolt unlocks with a little bit of jimmying, and then Peter's skipping inside with renewed excitement because _May's home early_. Who needs homework, anyway? She's been picking up shifts for like two months, but he feels like he hasn't seen her in longer because she'd had mostly night shifts before that and they'd always miss each other in the morning. Now, however, she has the next 39 hours off and they can start working through their summer movie list early.

Well, that's the plan, anyway.

When he rounds the corner into the kitchen, it's to find May's back to him and Mr. Stark sat at their dining table, one of their miscellaneous mugs in his hand and his signature pink sunglasses folded neatly on the table in front of him. Peter pauses at the unexpected sight - not that he doesn't love to see Mr. Stark because he does, but he doesn't come over that often and it has to be important because _Peter_ didn’t even know May was home right now. The billionaire gives him an easy smile, one that suggests he knows exactly what is going through the boy's head, before his gaze drifts down and his smile grows. A lot. And it's- it's _weird._ Not bad weird, but he's definitely never seen that one before, and Peter likes to think he's seen them all by now.

And shoot, he didn't drop something on his shirt, did he? That would be super embarrassing.

It's clean - thank god - but his heartrate spikes into _Dangerous_ anyway because, oh yeah, he's wearing _that shirt._ The shirt Ned got him for Christmas. The shirt that's one of his new favorites. The shirt he won't wear if he knows May or Happy or Mr. Stark would see it. The shirt that says, ' _I have a hero. I call him dad_ '. That shirt.

Unfortunately for Peter, the nearest window is across the room, and there's no way he'd make it over there to _yeet_ himself out of this awkward situation before one of them caught him.

He crosses his arms over his chest in the futile hope of covering the damning words and pretending like nothing happened. "I- um, I'm gonna go change," he says, throwing himself instead into the safety of his room. In one quick motion, the shirt comes off and he picks up the first one he sees because literally any other one will be better than _that,_ and puts it on. Except he catches sight of himself in the mirror and what little relief he'd felt vanishes at the image of Iron Man armor.

Nope. Not happening. An Iron Man shirt is only marginally better on the spectrum of Worst Things to Wear in Front of Tony Stark, so he digs around in his clothes until he finds something nice and plain and less likely to send him into a panic induced anxiety attack. Or an anxiety induced panic attack. They're kind of hard to distinguish.

By the time he's built up the courage to return to the kitchen, May is sat across from him at the table. Peter knows they've been talking, but he made a point not to listen in on that conversation because he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.

"Hey baby. How was school?"

His arms cross again, drawing into himself as the adults stare imploringly at him. "It was- was good. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, kid," Mr. Stark says, waving him over to the empty chair beside him, "I was just in the neighborhood." He's never in the neighborhood. "Thought I'd check in." They text every day. He texts _May_ every day.

Peter sits, obedient but suspicious. To their credit, they don't share any knowing looks, but after the entrance he made, he isn't such a fan of their scrutiny. "We're good, Mr. Stark. How are you?" he asks, eager to turn the conversation away from himself. "Did U finally figure out that puzzle?"

A grin follows the arm thrown casually across the back of Peter's chair. "Yes, after four and a half hours, he finally realized he'd have to turn the square to make it fit. I moved him up to farm animals. He's very excited about it, kept showing me the chicken."

It's the image of U repeatedly bringing the chicken-shaped wooden piece of a baby puzzle over to Mr. Stark that makes him laugh, because of all the shocking things in Tony Stark's labs, it's the inventor's relationship with his bots that threw Peter the most. They're like children. Dum-E always wants to help, even though he usually ends up making a mess and getting reprimanded in a stern tone by his doting father who falters without fail at the bot's sad beeps. Butterfingers likes to imitate them, but has inexplicably imprinted on Peter and now holds the lab's record for most broken beakers.

"That's one of the robots, right?" May asks, her expression thoughtful but belying amusement. (Peter was really into puzzles when he was a kid, so he can only imagine what she's thinking).

Mr. Stark nods while Peter explains, "Yeah, he got jealous that Dum-E and Butterfingers were helping us last week, but he's not so good with, um, shape recognition? So Mr. Stark gave him one of those baby puzzles with all the wooden shapes. I think he'd gotten two in before I left on Sunday."

May hums into her mug, eyes alight. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Evil woman.

There's a finger poking his shoulder now, but Peter stares resolutely at the wall behind his aunt. "Oh _really?"_

"No," he says at the same time May's cup finds its way back to the table and she replies, "Absolutely. Couldn't do a damn thing without his help. I let him lick my stamps for years."

Mr. Stark laughs. May laughs. Peter sinks lower in his chair, trying to escape the warm hand patting his shoulder in what is probably supposed to be a comforting gesture but rather makes his cheeks burn hotter. It's not even that bad of an anecdote. He'd done way more embarrassing things as a child, many of which he prays never make it to Mr. Stark's ears, but he can't help it.

"He's still like that. Way worse than the bots."

Rude.

"Did you come here just to pick on me?" Because if so, he'll be very conflicted. Sitting around the table like this, with them, laughing even if it's at his expense, it's- it feels normal and warm and it's giving him a taste of something he'd forgotten he missed. It's the same feeling he got when he realized he was touch-starved from isolating himself after the bite, like he can breathe again despite not knowing he'd been drowning in the first place. But the thought of the two of them teaming up to make him squirm and blush is basically the makings of his doom.

"Oh sweetie, don't take this from us," May tells him, reaching for his hands. "The only joy we adults get is from embarrassing our kids."

Lips pursed, Peter attempts to gauge whether or not that was a jab at his shirt or not, but she seems openly sincere, and Mr. Stark doesn't comment, so he lets it go.

Considering who he is (read: king of Overthinking, a malevolent land that swallows its citizens whole and pops them out in faraway places, a fate in which its ruler suffers most often), he's pretty damn proud of himself for actually letting it go. Mr. Stark orders them dinner, and they watch a movie, and Peter only thinks about it once and doesn't even shiver that noticeably. It's actually a nice night, all things considered, and he feels a little sappy at the thought that his mentor might actually have been in the neighborhood and wanted to hang out with them just because.

Mr. Stark being Mr. Stark, he insists he has outstayed his welcome once the end credits begin to roll. Peter tries to tell him that that is literally impossible, even gets May's much less enthusiastic support, but it's no use.

They're all hovering by the door now, because not a single one of them is good at pleasantries like 'goodbye.' After a brief silence, Mr. Stark approaches him. And keeps approaching him. And doesn't stop approaching him, even when they're touching.

"Um," Peter says intelligently. There are stiff arms around his shoulders and his nose is sort of squished against the man's collar bone. He smells like expensive cologne, but it doesn't mask the undertone of motor oil that constantly clings to him. "What is this?"

"It's a hug, Pete." _Ohmygod._ "You gonna return it?" Can anyone say best day of his life? "Oof, maybe a little less Spidey-strength."

He relaxes as much as he can, accepts the fact that it's probably not enough, and tries not to vibrate with unequivocal joy until after he leaves. Or at least until the hug is over. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Both arms tighten before a hand slips away; Peter prepares himself for the embrace's end, but a second later there are fingers pushing through his hair - an action caught between fond and playful - that startle him long enough not to mourn the loss of contact. "Be good for your aunt. Don't stay out past curfew. Eat broccoli, or something like that," Mr. Stark says by way of goodbye. With a final nod to May, he sweeps out of the apartment.

Peter senses his aunt behind him before her arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in, chin resting on his head. It's a familiar comfort and he doesn't hesitate to lean back into her.

"How long have you had that shirt?"

Peaceful moment ruined, his heart leaps into his throat and then plummets into his shoes. There is a reason he never wanted her to see it, a reason Ned is the only one who knew how he felt about the billionaire. "May, I'm so so-." He twists around to face her, but she cuts him off.

"It's alright, sweetie. Whatever you're trying to apologize for, don't, there's no need." Her hands press into his cheeks before falling to rest on his shoulders. The touch and the smile ground him to the present. "For all I don't like that man, I know he's trying. He's good for you."

Somehow, he can breathe again. "I would have told you," he tries to explain, because she deserves that much at least, "I would have told you, but I didn't know if- I didn't want you to think that-that I was replacing Ben or something."

May's smile turns bittersweet. "I think you and I both know Ben can't be replaced."

The tears that suddenly burn his eyes are unbidden. They don't talk about Ben much, especially not in this capacity that makes it so very clear that he is gone and he is not coming back. Here, they can't pretend the shoes by the door aren't gathering dust or the calendar on the fridge doesn't say _2016_ because Ben had written in her birthday with a funny smile-y face and neither one of them have had the courage to consider letting someone else fill those shoes or leave those notes. He'd been terrified that his aunt would believe him capable of filling that void so easily, had anguished over it for weeks before caving and telling Ned everything, crying on his friend's shoulder because he missed Ben and didn't want May to hate him.

He should have known better.

"You're allowed to be happy, Peter. You're allowed to move on."

It's like a stick of dynamite in a dam. Tears spilling over onto his cheeks, Peter collapses into her arms. She holds him fiercely, like always, like her sheer force of will could hold him together when he's falling apart (and he believes it). "You're allowed, too," he whispers into her neck.

"I know. I am." May's fingers brush through his hair soothingly. "Just _not_ with Tony Stark."

Peter snorts. "That's fair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the good writing ends - it's actually one of my all-time favorite pieces that I've written. Nevertheless, I didn't really feel like I could leave it here without having Tony and Peter talk about it, so that's what the next chapter is about. It's dialogue heavy and angsty and not the best because I power-wrote it in a couple hours today. Oh well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus: Tony and Peter talk it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a "do you see me as a father figure?" "do you see me as a son figure?" discussion. It's emotional. It's revealing. It's frankly kind of crappy writing but yolo. This is why I tagged the story with "angst with a happy ending."
> 
> Warning for language and a kind of blunt mention of Ben's murder.

It's surprisingly easy to pretend like nothing happened the next time Peter comes to stay for the weekend. Perhaps it's because Tony has been dodging his problems expertly for more than thirty years. Perhaps it's because working with Peter in the lab is comfortable. Either way, when FRIDAY reminds them of the time, he knows he can't avoid it any more.

"Hey Pete, can we talk?"

Immediately, Peter freezes at his work station like a deer in headlights, staring wide-eyed at him. Tony can see the flash of panic in his irises and is already beating himself up about causing it when the boy nods. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. What about?"

He waves Peter over to the couch, taking a seat himself and rubbing his hands together nervously until he is finally joined by the hesitant teenager. It takes him a moment to gather the courage to say it; now is his only chance to back out, and part of him is screaming at the other part to do it. But it needs to happen. Now or never. "Your shirt."

Confusion floods his features, creasing his brow and relaxing his jaw. Peter drops his chin to look down at his shirt - another comedic science-themed number - before once again meeting the elder man's gaze.

Tony beats him to the punch. "You know which shirt I'm talking about." Again, his words are met with panic; Peter's fight or flight instincts are usually pretty good, and he fears the boy will bolt like he did last week. "It's okay," he says quickly, clasping his hands together tightly, "I'm not… upset, or anything. I just want to know what's going on in that big head of yours. You know you can talk to me about anything, I thought we were getting better about this communication thing."

Peter shifts and twists his hands, running his fingers over the rough fabric of his jeans, and doesn't meet his mentor's eye. Instead, he's staring at the floor a few feet in front of him.

"Pete, please relax. This isn't an interrogation."

"I'm sorry."

It's then that he feels the weight of the day and the exhaustion creeping in, settling heavily over him and making him long for a few hours of sleep. "That one's a freebie. I don't want to hear another." When all Peter does is press his lips together in response, Tony takes the plunge and reaches out, tapping his shoulder. "Come on, kid. You're never this tight lipped. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you run to take it off?"

The boy shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands into his armpits to keep them from giving away all his nervous ticks. "Didn't want to make things weird."

"You didn't," he assures immediately, but it's becoming abundantly clear that he is going to have to start practicing what he's been preaching. Tony sighs, leaning back into the cushions to get comfortable, and turns his gaze to the lab so the kid doesn't feel pinned down. "Honestly, I thought it would be. Weird, I mean. Everyone's been teasing me about acting like your father for months, and I've just been brushing them off, telling them off in some cases. I'm… me. I don't know the first thing about being someone's father. Maybe that's why I missed it." He pauses, glancing back over across the couch. "Did I miss it?"

Another shrug.

"Pete?" Tony tilts his head, trying to catch the boy's eyes without success. "I've got superhero stuff down to a science - literally, it's all science - but this? This is where I really need you, because last Thursday I was just trying to keep some spider-punk in a onesie from getting killed in an alley, and last Friday I'm…" But he can't bring himself to say it out loud, even if the idea has sent as many thrills through him as moments of paralyzing panic. "I missed it, and I'm still missing it. Tell me what's on your mind, kid. Fill me in."

"It's just," Peter starts and stops quickly, as if everything he's been keeping inside is trying to spill out at once. He's smart, and a fantastic orator when he wants to be, when he can organize his thoughts faster than his mouth wants to speak them. He takes a deep breath and brings his knees up to his chest in a gesture that's so isolating Tony's already weak iron heart begins to crack. "It's just hard," he says finally, in a surprisingly even tone. "It's hard to be me sometimes. I know May loves me, but she and Ben didn't want kids and they took me in anyway, and now he's gone and I'm all that's left."

Tony bites his tongue while Peter presses his hands over his face and takes another steadying breath.

"I always- always tried to be good, to be helpful, to be quiet, to not be more of an inconvenience- and she'd be so angry if she heard me say that." He stops long enough to give a choked sound that might be a laugh before continuing. "Because she loves me, she loves me a lot, she'd never- but I also know she worries. She worries so much. She works outrageous hours and comes home and stays up all night waiting for me. She doesn't deserve that, she doesn't deserve to have to constantly worry about whether or not I'll come back, whether or not she'll get another call from the police telling her I've been shot in the street. She's already lost so much, the fear of what it would do to her if I didn't come back… It makes it hard to patrol sometimes, and I'll just sit at the top of a building unable to do anything because I'm worried about May, sitting at home alone after working seventeen or eighteen hours, drinking coffee in the middle of the night just so she can check me for injuries and tuck me into bed. It's so hard to do this for Uncle Ben, and for-for myself, when I know what it's doing to her. She says she understands, but I don't think she does, not really, not like-" He sucks in a shaky breath and finishes, "not like you do."

It's silent after that, because Tony is at a loss for words. He's well acquainted with the kid's guilt complex, but this is something else entirely.

"I can see it in her eyes every now and then, like I'm not me, like she's looking at a ghost. I know I'm-I'm not the same Peter as before, but I just-." Peter shakes his head, setting his chin on his knees. "But then I come here and it doesn't matter who I am. Spider-Man and Peter Parker are the same person. There's no ghosts. It's just me and there's no expectation to be any different, to be anyone else. It's like I come here and I don't have to worry about how much I eat or how fast I'll heal or remember not to stick to walls, because she hates when I do that, it freaks her out. I think sometimes she forgets that I'm not Old Peter, with the thick glasses and bad asthma, but she's trying. She trying and she loves me and I-I love her so much, but I just want to be normal. I want to feel normal. I feel normal here."

Then he gasps and the tears he has been battling for the whole monologue hit full force and every effort to deter them is futile. Tony's heart breaks with him.

"Pete, can I touch you?" When he gets a jerky nod of confirmation, he scoots across the cushions and puts an arm around his shoulders, trying to provide comfort to the best of his inadequate abilities. "You're okay. It's okay."

Peter sniffs and unfurls enough to turn his face into the man's shoulder. He's shaking and crying and obviously not a stranger to it as he pulls in deliberately slow breaths, and Tony doesn't want to think about how many times he's had to keep himself from falling apart. "You make me feel normal. And safe. And you give really good hugs," he says with a wet laugh. Tony tugs him in tighter with a short laugh of his own. "You make sure I eat when I forget to and help me with my homework and design a bunch of poorly named protocols so I don't get hurt. You're always there when I need you." Peter sniffles and finally begins to relax, shifting more fully to rest against his side. "I dunno how you missed it."

"Because I didn't know what I was looking for. My dad… I wouldn't associate anything like that with Howard. I never felt normal. Or safe, actually."

He shifts again, tipping his head back to give Tony a perplexed look. Probably shouldn't have said that to an inquisitive and empathetic kid. With a gentle nudge, Peter's head resettles on his shoulder and his fingers brush through the boy's hair, which draws a pleased hum from him. Surprised to find comforting him so simple, Tony keeps up the movement.

"I wish you wouldn't keep stuff like this to yourself, Pete. I don't know why you insist on carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can't help if you don't tell me what's going on, especially with emotional stuff. Karen can't see that." He lets that sink in for a moment before addressing the biggest issue, "Are you alright? I mean, do you-"

"I'm not suicidal." And it's the weight of the world off Tony's shoulders. "I don't not want to live, or anything. I like living, it's just… hard, sometimes."

"I know." God, does he know how much of a pain in the ass the simple act of _living_ can be, how tedious drinking a glass of water is sometimes. "I've lived entire years in depressive low points. That's why I want you to _talk to me_ , kid. Please. I can help, and if I can't, I know a number of therapists who can. Okay?"

"Okay," Peter whispers.

Funny, how playing with the kid's hair makes comfort a two-way street.

"There's nothing you can do that I haven't done. Drinking, drugs, sex, streaking, stealing, arson-" He stops when Peter cuts in with a sharp ' _what_?' and laughs softly. "Point is, I'm a plethora of teenage rebellion wisdom, and I've been at this hero thing a long time. Let me help. Do not try to do everything yourself."

"I won't," he promises, uncurling further to wrap an arm across Tony's waist. "Thank you."

"Any time."

And there they stay, because Peter's tears are only just beginning to dry and they could both use some time to recuperate after that draining emotional heart-to-heart. There's still plenty more that needs to be addressed, but it will have to wait until later. For now, Tony is just going to hold _his_ kid, who seems to be fading fast, his breathing growing slow and steady, body leaning heavier into his side. Not that he minds in the slightest. Fingers pushing through messy curls, he smiles softly and whispers, "Look, you've made me soft, kid."

Peter hums contentedly against his shoulder. "Like a teddy bear," he mumbles, and there's a beat of silence before he starts laughing quietly and doesn't stop.

"Hey. What's so funny?" Peter shakes his head and Tony, not one to take no for an answer, uses his free hand to poke the kid's side until he's squirming. "Come on, share with the class."

He swats the hand away and resettles against Tony's chest, taking in a long and slow breath. "No. It's embarrassing."

"Well now I really gotta know," he says, trying not to laugh at the whiny little 'no' he gets in response, feeling his heart swell with affection. " _Yes_ or I'm going to text May and ask her why comparing me to a teddy bear made you giggle uncontrollably."

Peter groans. "That's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

"That's like the dad-est thing you could ever say."

Tony isn't quite sure what the kid's goal is. He'd have thought after losing two parents and an uncle, he'd like to _not_ send him into cardiac arrest; he knows damn well Peter can hear all the weird shit his heart does every time he speaks, but it doesn't stop him from saying things like that. "Well," he begins, but his voice is rough and he has to clear his throat, "you know me. If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right. Now stop avoiding the subject."

"Fine," Peter huffs, sitting back to blink open sleepy eyes and give Tony his best stern look (it's fucking adorable), "but you can't laugh."

"I promise."

"When I was like nine, I sort of made a, um- an Iron Man Build-a-Bear," he explains, gaze focused on the wall behind Tony's head and fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt. "His name's Teddy Stark."

Oh. Oh god. He does not deserve this pure, innocent child.

There's no stopping his stupid, fond grin, not that Peter is brave enough to look at him right now, anyway. "Jesus Christ, kid. You make it so easy."

He glances at Tony, suspicious. "Easy to what?"

"To love you." That gets Peter's attention, and he can't help but laugh at the shock widening his eyes to comedic levels, millimeters from popping out of his head. "I expect to meet him when I drop you off tomorrow."

"What? No!"

"Yes! He's part of the family."

"Mr. Stark!"

"Ah! No, we're way passed that, now, bud."

"Dad," he says slowly, clearly trying it out. They break out into smiles at the same time.

Tony claps him on the shoulder and stands. "Come on, snack time and then bed time."

Peter wrinkles his nose and follows suit, stretching out his arms and legs and scrubbing the tear tracks from his cheeks with the sleeves of his sweater. "I know you're new at this and all, but I'm sixteen. I can take care of myself."

"I'll believe it when I see it, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Teddy Stark came out of nowhere - as in, I stopped writing in the middle of a sentence because my writing brain suddenly hyperfocused on writing the fluffy ending - but I am Attached now. I might even be planning? plotting? (evilly) a series revolving around the teddy bear (I am a Professional, okay?) because I think Tony is also attached now. He will make at least one more appearance, because I really want Peter to give him to Morgan.
> 
> Anyway! Hope you enjoyed. Part 5 will be the last, and hold on to your hats because it is also an angsty one.


End file.
